


As Close As You Get

by irridescentsong, jcrowquill



Series: Line of Fire [1]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Post-Skyfall, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-13
Updated: 2013-07-13
Packaged: 2017-12-19 07:59:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/881386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irridescentsong/pseuds/irridescentsong, https://archiveofourown.org/users/jcrowquill/pseuds/jcrowquill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Q meets Bond at Heathrow to bring him news and upgraded equipment before a mission.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As Close As You Get

**Author's Note:**

> This is a lightly reformatted long-form roleplay between tumblr players, horriblyefficient (jcrowquill) and quartermasterofqbranch (irridescentsong). 
> 
> jcrowquill writes for Bond and Irridescentsong writes for Q, with some slight overlap and description by both. 
> 
> This is the first in a series of long-form roleplay-turned-fics in the 00Q fandom, and is largely supported by the theme that "it's not a relationship," but that's for you to decide. This is set post-Skyfall, and if you have any questions, please don't hesitate to contact either writer for clarification!
> 
> No smut in this portion. The next scene will have plenty for you. :)

It was a hazy, lazy Sunday afternoon in Heathrow airport; dull winter sun filtered in from the high windows, mixing with the fluorescent bulbs to create a strangely underwater light scheme. With the holidays past, travel had slowed to a crawl. A few businessmen, getting the jump on the Monday work week, lounged in chairs with iPads or newspapers; university students embarking on overseas exchange programs fidgeted impatiently with their smartphones or looked about for kindred spirits.

James Bond had once claimed that he could sleep anywhere, or at least get comfortable just about anywhere. The bench of thinly upholstered seats put that claim to the test, though, as he shifted awkwardly to prop his Kindle on his knee without knocking his phone off of the armrest.

It wasn’t actually a Kindle, but Q Branch had done a beautiful job of making it look like one. One of the techs had explained that the had taken the outer casing from the Kindle Fire and completely replaced the insides with ridiculously powerful processor, some handy toys related to espionage, and a small detonation device.

The detonation device seemed like overkill, but 007 had noticed that Q branch didn’t consider a project complete unless it contained some kind of lethal add-on.

His eyes skimmed lazily over the mission brief, then absently flicked up to the departures schedule, took a quick circuit of the faces around him, and continued down the page. He tapped the screen to advance the document, sighing to himself. While he could acknowledge that the preparation was invaluable, it didn’t excuse the colorless language in which it was written. He caught on to a few more sensory details, then was disappointed to see that the third appendix was entirely dates and places.

He flicked his bright eyes over to his phone when it plinked with a new message.

Navigating Heathrow security was actually much easier when one knew exactly how to avoid the guards. And honestly, no one knew more about it than Q. That was his job. See everything, know everything, prepare for everything, equip for everything. Which was why he held an important case in his hand as he strode through the security tunnels of the airport’s International Terminal.

With deft precision, Q fished the mobile from his pocket - the work one - and started to type into it. As with all Q Branch products, it included no small amount of explosives, enough to incinerate the contents. Not that just anyone would be able to retrieve them anyway, not with the retinal scan required to make it work.

_[+number withheld; Sigma] You’ll need to meet me in the men’s in three minutes. Bring your bags. Q._

Bond tucked his tablet into the satchel that he was carrying, then rose to his feet and stretched. Three minutes, mm? Q was never one to schedule with much lead time; it was always on his convenience.

He did wonder what occasion brought the Quartermaster to the airport. For whatever reason, despite his advanced ranking within his department, Q was willing to deliver items to the agent in person. It could have been because of 007’s favored position within MI6, but it could have just as easily been because Q seemed to enjoy Bond’s company without falling prey to his charm.

In any case, James glanced around before starting toward the men’s room. To his mind, that sounded like new equipment that needed to be handled in semi-privacy. He felt a comfortable thrill in his chest at the prospect of a new toy or spending plastic, but outwardly his expression was just that of a mild businessman.

Q hurried with ease through the rest of the security corridors, taking a left at the last junction and stepping onto the concourse, eyes flying rapidly everywhere. Q stopped in front of the men’s room and stepped inside, locking the door behind him as he took the last few minutes to look himself over. He mused at himself in the mirror, indulging just briefly in caring about his appearance. An unassuming tech in dark grey pullover vest combined with a light green button-down and matching grey wool trousers with no tie was what stared back at him in the mirror, and Q adjusted his glasses nervously. He knew that the shirt would make his eyes greener, even though they hid behind his glasses and the thick mop of hair that hung into his eyes occasionally. He ruffled a hand through it quickly before looking around, checking his watch again as settled against the wall to wait, the small chronometer ticking past three minutes.

At that moment, Bond turned the corner and glanced around the men’s room as he walked in, wondering at whether he should be looking for long-toed men’s dress shoes under a stall door or whether the Quartermaster would be standing somewhere with his arms cross and remarking that it had been 3 minutes and 18 seconds.

“You’re late,” Q murmured in his quiet voice, indicating to the door he’d been guarding, “This way.”

He held the door open and followed after, locking it behind him. “There’s been recent developments since your brief was written. Equipment change.”

Despite the amount of what he considered ‘snark’ between them, Q genuinely enjoyed the agent’s presence. Provided that he wasn’t actively destroying equipment in the Quartermaster’s presence, that was. The charm that was his occupational hazard was never something that he took seriously, although he’d never admit to the fact that his mind occasionally wondered what it would be like to be pinned under that icy blue gaze. Q shook his head, erasing the thought from his mind. That was not the reason he was here today.

Bond’s broad, fair eyebrows flicked up at the closeness of the space as much as Q’s words. He chuckled lowly, “An upgrade, I hope?"

He noted Q was always sharply dressed, but he seemed to have spruced up just a touch to leave headquarters. The yellowy light did little for his pallor, but he wouldn’t comment on it; though they ribbed each other near constantly, James never brought in the Quartermaster’s appearance beyond occasional quips about dandyism. Unless one of them was experiencing an unusual flare in temper, their barbs never actually pricked the skin.

He slipped his hands into his pockets, shifting his weight slowly from heel to toe and back. The inactivity of his wait in the terminal had caught up with him, cracking his calm stillness.

Q gave a small laugh at the assumption. “Indeed. An upgrade.”

He set the case he’d carried from MI-6 on the edge of the sink, easily taking up the space of it, and swiped his card key through it to open it.

“I’ve replaced the Walther. I’ll take your other now. The same standards apply, biometrics must match to engage the weapon,” he said as he slipped the sleek redesigned Walther from its holster and handed them both over to the agent for his inspection. He added, “This one had an upgraded tracking chip on it. I’ll know where you’ve left it this time. It’s even waterproof, where the last was not, so try not to leave it at the bottom of a lake this time.”

He turned back to the case, lifting a small nail-head sized item from the case. “The microbattery leaflet you brought me? I’ve put it to good use. This will replace your earpiece. It’s a secure line, two-way communication. It’ll fit directly into the small of your ear, but won’t be able to be seen. Remove it when you want to disconnect. The microbattery that powers it will automatically shut down when it is not in contact with skin.”

It was the most that Q had spoken in two weeks, but this was the way he was when he crafted new equipment, particularly for Bond. As much as the other agents got into trouble, none of them had such a ridiculously hard time holding onto equipment as he did.

“Questions?” he murmured softly, looking up to meet his ice blue eyes.

"No… these are actually rather self-explanatory," Bond said, nodding briskly.

He pulled back his jacket, revealing his current pistol in its sleek leather holster. When he pulled it out and looked it over, it was apparent that despite any unfortunate end that his equipment might come to, it wasn’t because he didn’t respect the items. There was a fondness for the weapon in his large, calloused hands that made his movements careful and almost caressing as he turned it over once to check for incidental damage before handing it to the Quartermaster.

Q accepted the old Walther back, checking the slide and the magazine on it first before popping out the biometrics card and sliding it into his pocket to be destroyed later. He ran his first two fingers over the muzzle almost lovingly before fitting it back into the case with a small amount of difficulty. The size was slightly bigger to suit the larger gun, and the compression fit foam didn’t take it nicely as it had the new one. It was almost a shame to retire this one, simply because it had been crafted specifically for 007, but the new one would do him more than a sight better.

Bond tilted his chin to the side several degrees and shook his head to slightly unseat his earpiece, popping his jaw slightly as he did. While the earpieces were well-known for staying put even during the most intense activity, most agents had a particular trick for removing their own. He held the earpiece out to Q, then paused and pulled his hand back.

He instead reached over to take a paper towel from the small sink, which he used to carefully wrap and enfold the piece. He knew Q’s feelings on things that had been in contact with other people’s bodies; it was out of respect (and a desire to head off Q holding the earpiece like it was a dead goldfish) that he handed it to him tidily encased in a clean paper.

With that accomplished, he took the new earpiece from the Quartermaster and slipped it into the shell of his ear.

A small look of distaste crossed his face at accepting even the paper-wrapped ear piece. There was a reason that he surrounded himself with technology rather than people. People were messy. People didn’t fit easily into the boxes that they should, didn’t keep their bodily fluids to themselves (well, the agents all had a bit of an issue with that), and used equipment was normally no exception to the fact. With no small matter of expediency, he set it into the case and moved to examine the new earpiece - again, of his own invention.

The earpiece was flat and round, flesh-coloured (which is to say, actually matched to the users flesh, not that horrible ‘flesh-coloured’ of anything mass produced), and sticky on one end. The base of it stuck to the bare skin inside the ear, and built upon that base was the microbattery, and the transmitter. Q had a similar one in his own pocket, and the secure line of communication would allow them to speak when needed anywhere in the world via satellite. Privacy was something that didn’t come easily in MI-6, and any way that Q could guarantee it, he would.

“For now, it’s one channel, just for field testing purposes. You’ll be linked directly to my own, which I’ll install after we’ve parted, but eventually it will be multi-channel,” he explained, satisfied that the profile was reduced.

"This is good," Bond commented approvingly, nodding as he looked at his reflection. There was nothing to be seen, confirming that the low profile earpiece would likely become standard issue.

The gun was slightly sleeker, but felt largely the same. He picked it up from its case, which allowed Q to awkwardly fit the old Walther into the foam insert, and tested the biometric calibration. Sure enough, the green LED (which was smaller and dimmer than on the previous) glowed its approval.

From the case, Q lifted a second magazine of ammunition, thumbing off the rounds with precision and reloading them in front of the agent, giving him the courtesy that showed he had visually inspected every round in the spare clip before handing it over to him. Bond could appreciate the thoroughness of the Quartermaster as he inspected each piece. He was obviously a man who took great pride in both his work and the work of his staff; he did not simply delegate, he knew the specifications of every piece that came out of his department. While he couldn’t necessarily fire the gun with fantastic accuracy, he knew more than simply what it should look like. He knew the weight, how the clip should feel when it was properly maintained.

Nodding to the Quartermaster, he slipped the gun into its holster and smoothed down his jacket. James smiled cheekily, pleased by the both the equipment and the visit that had broken up the monotony.

"Excellent work, Q. And you even came to an airport to bring it to me, despite that they corral those large metal beasts here; I’ve heard you have an irrational fear of them."

“My fear is not irrational,” Q quipped, locking the case he’d brought with him and crossing an arm over his chest. “Far too many people die in plane crashes, and I am not willing to be one of them. As long as I’m not on it, I’m fine.” He paused momentarily before starting to speak again, making a show of pulling his own from his pocket, checking it over once visually before installing it in his ear, a satisfying hum of the electronics powering up inside it to his tuned ear making him smile.

Bond’s expression relaxed into his usual neutral expression, despite that his voice retained the tone that accompanied baiting comments, “You do know that the chances of dying in a plane crash are 22 million to one, don’t you? Considerably more people die in car accidents than plane accidents."

He paused, then made a mocking sound of discovery before continuing, “Oh, but then, that’s probably why you take the Tube, isn’t it?”

A look of unamusement crossed Q’s face at the insinuation. “I take the Tube because it’s closer to my flat, and costs me considerably less than a vehicle, even one from the motor pool,” he said tersely, voice bordering on strained. “And if you consider that in the month of December, there were 8 plane crashes, the risks do not outweigh the benefits. Not for me. I can get anywhere I need to in the world without leaving the GIS lab.”

A car crash had killed his parents when he was 7, leaving him very close to being alone in the world. But then, most of MI6 was made of orphans. Dig in someone’s personnel record long enough and you start to uncover information that no one person should ever know about another. Q, as a matter of business, had made sure that his own file was buried so deep that no one but a hacker on his own level could find it. No one had the right to see the file that had led him to MI6. An amended one sat on the servers with the rest of the departments, listing him only as Q Evans, neither of which were completely true.

Bond’s keen eye noted the slight change in expression, keying him into a misstep in his choice of remarks. He added the instance to the mental file simply labelled Q, which housed details from the tech’s favored teas to comments that had struck too close to a nerve. Obviously, James didn’t have access to the Quartermaster’s MI6 documents, but it didn’t mean that he didn’t note his own observations.

That had obviously been a poor choice of words, and the blond agent would reflect upon it later.

In the meantime, a light touch to the sleeve of the Quartermaster’s jacket was the closest to an apology that Q would receive.

The tech nodded softly at the touch, acknowledging what passed as an apology between them. Many things did not need to be said between them, and yet others demanded to be spoken.

“Anything you need, you can contact me instantly with the earpiece. All you need to do is speak and I will be able to hear. Do try to return in one piece, 007.”

It was as close to a ‘be safe’ as Q would get.

"I always try," James protested, his expression one of staged offense. Admonitions of that nature were standard from Q branch; the older gentleman who had previously been Quartermaster had habitually said almost the same thing. He had also looked at the doomed equipment with the same thinly veiled mourning.

It was curious that he would temporarily be connected only to the Quartermaster. Of course, it would likely only last a few hours, and by the time he arrived in Seoul he would have all of the usual channels. Ignoring the likely unintentional intimacy of the limited communications, it implied that 007 had a certain level of importance; most agents were not permitted to monopolize the head of Q branch. However, it could also be argued that he already commanded more attention from Q branch than the average agent, double-oh or not.

“If that’s all,” he murmured, “I’ll leave you to review your mission briefs in peace.”

"I don’t mind company, though the men’s room isn’t the ideal place to pass the time."

In the confined space, Q seemed bigger than Bond remembered him. The other man was just an inch shorter than James, but when he was seated at his desk he seemed narrow and fine boned. In the context of the real world though, he could say that while Q had a slim waist, he was surprisingly broad shouldered; his features, which he always seemed to remember with a certain delicacy, were actually rather generous. On the basis of personality, Q had always noticed that Bond seemed to take up the lion’s share of the air in the room, making him feel comparatively small and unobtrusive. The agent’s easy-going attitude simply needed more space than the younger man’s introverted nature. They met somewhere in the middle; while in many ways they were dissimilar, these differences were often complements.

Considering this made Q’s head spin far too much for his own liking.

The words dragged him from his observations and Q stiffened slightly, instantly reminded of their situation. International Terminal, Heathrow, not smart, too long. Beyond their current location, he hardly believed that he was qualified as ‘company’ for the agent.

“Surely I’m not your type,” Q murmured quietly at the invitation. “Certainly there must be some woman you can pick up from the First Class lounge who would be much better company than myself.”

“I thought that according to Q Branch, my type was ‘has a pulse?’” Bond chuckled softly, “If so, then you must by default fall within the scope of my interests.”

Bond opened the door to the rest of the room and stepped out. In spite of, or perhaps because of, how quietly the door had opened, it caught the attention of the solitary man at one of the urinals. He looked over at the two men with an odd expression, prompting Bond to realize that it was in fact a bit unusual for two men to have been in the same lavatory stall; it didn’t help that his jacket was slightly rumpled from the change in pistols and Q always looked as though he had just rolled out of bed.

Q followed the agent out of the closed room, eyes immediately falling on the occupant of the main lavatory area. He dipped his eyes, looking down to the floor. Surely, the man must be assuming that they had just come from something amounting to flagrante delicto. Used to maintaining or creating a cover on the fly, James slipped his arm around the Quartermaster’s waist and snugged him up against his side. He was slightly surprised by how muscular Q’s back was against the inside of his arm, but he breezed on, resolving to add that to his running notes later. Feeling the other man stiffen, he leaned in in and murmured, lips against Q’s ear, “Perhaps this wasn't the best place to meet."

The strong arm against his back gave Q momentary pause, but he took it in stride, almost reveling in the feeling.

There had been plenty of casual touches between them, but this couldn’t be counted as casual anymore. Instead, it fueled thoughts in Q’s head that should never have appeared, and he pushed them away, instead already thinking of how he could reroute the transmission signals for the new earpieces, and possibly get them to switch at a voice command. It wouldn’t be terribly hard.

Bond only hope that the straight-backed tech could catch his meaning. In any case, what overtly appeared to be a display of affection must have made the other man uncomfortable, for he turned pointedly away from them and seemed to press forward defensively against the wall as they passed.

James, smooth as ever, cleanly parted from him as they they had walked out separately and proximity had merely been due to the agent holding the door for him. Near immediately Q extracted himself from Bond’s arm, looking at him for a moment before starting away, clutching the case in his hand. He caught Q’s look, though had an unusually difficult time reading it.

"No need to be flustered, Q," he murmured.

He had perfected the art of speaking through an aural communication device. He knew exactly how much to move his lips to enunciate the sounds and exactly how much air to put behind the words to ensure that the sound vibrated through his cheekbone to resonate into the earpiece. If anyone even noticed that he was speaking, it looked as though he was simply muttering to himself.

Even speaking in this practiced way, he was able to convey a subdued version of his emotions with his voice. By now, Q had heard him speak this way often enough that he would recognize Bond’s amusement.

"A really bang-up cover, the best kind, simply plays on the erroneous assumptions of strangers."

Bond took his seat again by the gate and resumed perusal of his faux-Kindle.

Q never turned back from his departure, pausing only briefly once he’d made it back into the security corridors, stopping just out of the view of two fixed-view cameras to sigh gently.

“Yes, I suppose there’s no reason that you should act like we’re lovers,” Q muttered gently, knowing the sound would carry reliably to the agent’s earpiece. While he recognized the amusement of Bond in his actions, he still felt put-off. It was something casual that he knew would never be, so it was better to put up that wall and keep everything separate. As he had reliably done for the ten years since he’d been recruited to work for MI6. “While such things must come easily to field agents, please remember that if there should be a next time, such an assumption may be uncomfortable for the other party.”

He straightened his vest, cursing himself for the thought he’d put into his own appearance, and stepped back into the view of the cameras to continue walking along the security corridor. It was really a shame that it was surprisingly so easy to compromise the entire airport in this fashion, and he would have to put in a memo to M to make some mention to the Undersecretary of State.

“Bond,” Q started quietly, “do be careful. Have a safe flight to Seoul.”

It was hard to read the mood of the Quartermaster’s hushed voice, but Bond felt as though there was something else layered in with the omnipresent irritation. It was hard to tell what, precisely, without the visual clues, and the whole thing provided a distraction that gave him an unaccustomed pause.

James found himself wondering at the aloof genius and how often he actually had physical contact with other living creatures. Perhaps he didn’t like being touched, perhaps he was unaccustomed to it and therefore found the contact confusing or unusually meaningful. As he reflected on those few moments and replayed them in his mind’s theatre, he recalled that Q had stiffened initially, but had almost seemed to relax into his hold once the initial shock had passed. It was sharp acting for a man unused to field work.

He advanced a page in the mission brief with a tap of his finger before replying, “You handled it with remarkable grace, Q."

While he was still looking at the brief, he had ceased to read it and was instead thinking about the Quartermaster, and specifically how good it had felt to have him within the half-circle of his arm. Men felt different than women; more solid, less yielding. They didn’t fit as smoothly against his side, and the mismatch was sometimes in itself pleasurable. It had been awhile since he had taken a male lover, and he wondered if perhaps his cavalier attitude toward Q had been a sign of a desire he needed to sate.

Perhaps a lithe Korean man could fulfill that need.

In any case, though, projecting that onto Q was not appropriate (particularly when the man seemed to be more interested in technology than people) and he valued the other man far too highly to make him uncomfortable over what ultimately came down to opportunistic misbehavior.

Another pause, lingering just a moment before he said with surprising sincerity, “I apologize, Q. It was presumptuous of me. My intention wasn't to offend you."

Q stopped dead in his tracks at the apology, eyes widening at the implication. He swallowed nervously as his throat constricted, pushing his glasses up in adjustment on his face. He cleared his throat before speaking again.

The dilemma was what to say. Or what to do, really. He could take it in stride, continue back to MI6, finish his projects for the day. Or… Or, he could acknowledge that he’d been wrong, head back and possibly enjoy the agent’s company.

‘Take a chance,’ his mind whispered.

So Q jumped.

“I wasn’t offended,” he said quietly. “I didn’t want you to have to act something uncomfortable for yourself.” A long pause held between his words, weighing and calculating them quickly. “The implication of a male lover is sometimes seen as detrimental to one’s character, and I know you favour the fairer sex.”

Q had never considered the position that the agent might not have had an issue with gender as others had.

Q himself didn’t date, as a rule, but when the need to find release came about, gender had never been an issue. Where one found release shouldn’t have been a concern of anyone, but he didn’t imagine for a moment that someone like Bond, handsome and gorgeous Bond, might not be entirely gender-specific hadn’t crossed his mind.

“Technically, I’m off duty until this evening. If your offer of company still stands,” he murmured quietly.

Bond was as surprised by the change in tone as he was by Q considering his offer. He smiled to himself, though. He caught sight of his reflection in the semi-glossy screen of his phone and felt a bit like a fool for smiling at something as small as the prospect of company until his plane left.

Q felt a bit like a fool, standing in the middle of the security corridor, the entire balance of his life in that moment hinging on a yes or no answer. It was like a logic gate, giving him a definite answer between two opposite choices, and Q didn’t particularly care for the way he swung in the balance.

"Well," the older man replied, “My plane boards in a half hour, but the offer definitely stands."

At the quirk in the agent’s reply (he could visually hear the smirk, and envision it on that (what he could only imagine was soft) mouth), he visibly sagged in relief and turned to come back the way he had come.

Bond turned over the rest of what he’d said in his mind, rubbing his thumb on the case of his Kindle thoughtfully. Then he added, “For the record, I’m not uncomfortable with much of anything, Q, particularly when it’s a half-second exchange to throw off one civilian. My preference for the fairer sex is just a preference; you work in the rumour mill, you should know that."

“The ‘rumor mill,’ as you’ve so colloquially put it, is of no concern of mine. I am constantly having to put tighter and tighter security on the feeds,” Q murmured quietly, the heels of his dress shoes striking the tile with quiet and distinct echoes. “It is all just rumors. And rumors not backed up by fact are meaningless.”

The statement left no room for wavering opinions.

"I’m amazed that you allow interns at all," James replied, turning off the device in his lap and flipping the simple leather cover closed. The front was embossed with a semi-sculptural lion and a portion of a poem by William Blake. Q branch had given it to him and stressed that the device and its protective housing were permanently married to one another, as though that would ensure the safe return of both. The agent had laughed.

In fairness, James never tried to ruin things.

Q laughed quietly at the implication of the interns. They really were a horrible lot, but Q Branch couldn’t function without the interns. They worked long hours for free, all vying for the hope to be included in the next draw of employees, but so very few actually made it. If R, his head of staff, ever left, Q would most likely murder every single intern.

“If I didn’t have the pool, and I were to do everything myself,” he said with another soft murmured of amusement, “I wouldn’t have time to craft you new weapons.”

He paused briefly just inside the door leading back out into the terminal, smoothing a hand over his hair as he drew himself into the professional role that he had cultivated. While normally he could at least show some semblance of relaxing, especially with the long hours he enjoyed putting in to the R&D laboratory, trying to get away with that attitude in front of his superiors didn’t always work. It was something similar to a coat he could shrug on and off, drawing himself up just a touch more, a look of confidence on his face.

It would be the first time that he would have ever put this on for the agent, and it was more than subtle curiosity at how he would react to it.

Tucking the case back into his satchel, Bond raised his eyes to the corridor to see Q walking toward him. The Quartermaster always had a crisp, almost choreographed style of movement. With the light contact still on his mind, he found himself involuntarily considering the long legs sheathed within the slim-fitting wool trousers, and again his thoughts returned to his surprise as finding that his supple body wasn’t as soft-muscled as he’d always assumed. He licked his lips, flicking his gaze downward for a moment. The image was still in his thoughts, as was the round “o" of his surprised mouth before he had pressed his lips together in annoyance when James had pulled him up against his side.

Well, James was nothing if not professional. Professionalism, as well as the respect that he held for the Quartermaster, dictated that he behave like the gentleman that he was.

He rose to his feet to greet him when he came within a few feet of where he was sitting. He reached over to shake hands as though he was meeting a colleague whom he hadn’t seen in some time.

"Quentin, a pleasure to see you. What brings you to Heathrow?"

  
  


Bond never did things in halves, and it was pleasant to see that this would be no exception. Q extended his hand to shake, falling directly into the role, and sat down with a pleased smile on his face.

“My dear James, how are you? It’s certainly been quite a while. Just heading out on business. Yourself?”

Q was pleased to hear that there was no feedback on the earpieces for they had automatically disconnected when the pair were within five feet of each other. He smiled again and settled the case he’d been carrying on the floor between his feet as he took in his appearance again, imagining an entirely different set of circumstances now.

Bond was similarly pleased by the lack of feedback as well - he remembered having to quash the involuntary flinch following the piercing shrill that accompanied two earpieces in close proximity of one another. He nodded his approval to Q, reaching up to smooth his hair by the ear with the device, assuming that the Quartermaster would recognize his congratulatory meaning.

"Same, same. Just dull client meetings in Korea… I’m meeting a translator there; my Korean is only just passable."

Immediately, Q’s hazel eyes recognized the gesture of congratulations, and he nodded gently at it.

"Hangug-eo tonghaeng, majseubnikka? Amado dangsin-eun deo manh-eun yeonguga pil-yohabnida*," Q said off-hand, a bit of a tease in his voice. He smiled a touch as he shifted in his seat, adjusting his glasses once more. “But that is besides the point."

James actually spoke passable Korean; beginner level with a healthy sidebar of vocabulary relevant to espionage. A solid assortment of profanity from banal to creative. The “translator" he had mentioned was simply a Korean contact who would confirm his cover. Because of that, he was able to easily follow the Quartermaster’s simple statement and only momentarily thought him a bit of a brat. However, it was common knowledge that languages had long been a source of fascination for the Quartermaster; he was rumoured to speak approaching 30 different languages and dialects.

Seeing the change in the other man’s demeanor, James wondered if it was simply good acting or if this facade was one that he had employed before. He smiled and tilted his head to the side consideringly, “What does your day hold?"

"I’m headed out for a trip myself. Not Korea, somewhere a bit colder than that actually. I’ve heard that they have a new supplier that I’ve been interested in." Q smiled politely at the thought that they were very possibly going to have a thinly veiled conversation about not only their intellectual pursuits, but also their current projects.

"Новые технологии**," Q murmured, knowing that Bond would catch his meaning immediately.

Bond smirked, catching the meaning of the Russian with a little bit of effort. He wasn’t a natural with languages, but he had been worked hard by MI6 and by himself; through heavy self-study, largely motivated by the desire not to die in a foreign country, he had absorbed a handful of relevant languages.

"Show off," he laughed, surprised by the unusually inflected range of Q’s voice. He felt as though the tech normally stayed within a narrow range of tone and emotion, but in this particular conversation his voice had a subtly musical quality to it, almost a lilt. And from that, he wondered where the Quartermaster had originally hailed from and what accent was masked by his London mannerisms.

It was very distracting.

"Would a Mr. James Bond please come to Gate 27A? Mr. Bond, please come to Gate 27A," came a pleasant, slightly garbled female voice across the PA.

Q cursed inwardly at the light female tones flitting across the terminal to where they sat, and smiled gently.

James sighed weightily and looked back to his companion, “Occasionally they allow early boarding… so in this instance, I’m afraid I will have to cut our conversation short."

He rose to his feet, reaching down to shake hands with the Quartermaster again. He let his grip linger just a moment longer than socially expected, then cursed himself for his weakness as he straightened.

"I hope that you have a safe flight, James," Q mused, standing from his seat while still gripping Bond’s hand, graceful fingers sliding across the back of his hand. The casual touches made him shiver, fueling whatever fond emotions he’d begun to harbour for the agent.

"Perhaps when I get back, we can meet to discuss our travels."

"I’d like that. I think it’d be enjoyable," Q said calmly, resuming his seat as he pulled his mobile from his pocket. “Safe travels, James," he called, watching the agent walk away to his gate.

As Bond strode purposefully toward the desk, his satchel over his shoulder, his thoughts lingered a moment on the Quartermaster’s fingers and their exquisite delicacy. He thought of his mouth, of his brilliant, intelligent eyes, of the graceful line of his neck.

All of his because he’d chanced a momentary cover that brought his colleague in close contact.

Struggling to get his Q-related thoughts in check as the hostess checked him in, Bond resolved to renew his Mile High Club membership at some point on the seven hour flight. And in Korea he would definitely, definitely sate his same-sex lust so that he could go back to MI6 as a cool, collected professional.

He cast a brief glance back at the Quartermaster, giving him a faint smile before he disappeared into the mouth of the gate.

**Author's Note:**

> Translation notes!
> 
>  
> 
> *: 'Passable Korean you say? Perhaps you need more study.'  
> **: 'New technology.'


End file.
